


Honey, If You Stay, I'll Be Forgiven

by Lucifleur



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Don't copy to other sites, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Panic Attacks, misuse of summoning circle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-27 01:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20751878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifleur/pseuds/Lucifleur
Summary: Our occult and ethereal pair return to the bookshop for the first time after the Armagedn't, and Crowley has a rough time of it. He accidentally lets slip some of his feelings for Aziraphale, then flees the scene. Aziraphale resorts to magical means to get him back and forcefully talk about their feelings.





	Honey, If You Stay, I'll Be Forgiven

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a My Chemical Romance song

It was the first week of the rest of their lives, and everything seemed shiny and new, which it was. Sort of. They’d had lunch at some downtown gastro pub, whatever that was, and now plans were in place to get drunk. Well, more drunk. The bookshop seemed the natural place to go, and things were going swimmingly until Crowley followed Aziraphale through the doorway. It was the first time he’d been there since the world had failed to end, at least, in his own body. And as Crowley stepped inside his stomach twisted, full of ice, and his knees turned to water._ The hot smoke scratching his throat, scraps of burnt pages floating through the air like black snowflakes of ash, the roar of the flames, the terrible, aching lack of Aziraphale, not just from the bookshop but from the world as well, like the oppressive hush of a familiar song suddenly silenced. _ He froze in the middle of his swagger, his jaw clenching, his shoulders tight. Aziraphale turned back to look at him, his face a question. Crowley forced himself to relax and shrugged. He sauntered over to sprawl on the couch in the backroom, feigning boredom. Aziraphale seemed satisfied at this, locking the door behind them and disappearing to fetch some wine. Crowley took a deep breath. Aziraphale would be back any second, and absolutely nothing awful would happen to him meanwhile. _ Hot smoke, burnt pages like black snowflakes of ash, roar of the flames, terrible, aching lack of Aziraphale, song suddenly silenced. _ Crowley hadn’t lost Aziraphale, he was fine, Aziraphale had come back to him, there was absolutely no need to panic, no need for his heart to beat so fast, no need for his rapid breathing. _ Smoke snowflakes of ash roaring flames aching lack Aziraphale silenced. _ Crowley put his face in his hands, winding his fingers through his hair, tight enough to hurt, and drawing his legs up to curl in on himself. He dragged a rasping breath in and let it out in a silent sob, his vision blurry from tears. 

“So, I couldn’t decide between the—Crowley, are you alright?” said Aziraphale, emerging from behind a shelf of books with a bottle of wine in each hand. Crowley let out a shuddering wail, and Aziraphale rushed forward, carelessly setting down the wine and perching beside him on the couch. “Crowley?” His hands fluttered around him before settling on his shoulders. “What’s the matter? Crowley?” Crowley wrenched his hands away from his face, leaving his hair wild and dragging his sunglasses off as he did so. Aziraphale stared at him, full of worry. His face crumpled into frightened crying.

“I—lost—you!” he sobbed, reaching out for him blindly, grasping his arms. 

“I... I’m right here.”

“I—I thought—you—had burned!” he wailed, burrowing his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale instinctively wrapped his arms around him, realization dawning. The bookshop had burned down, and the circle, he’d been discorporated, and Crowley must have... 

“Oh. I’m so sorry, Crowley, I...” he trailed off. Crowley’s sobs started to slow. 

“I thought they—that someone...” he said tearily, into Aziraphale’s jacket. He stroked his back, unable to think of anything to say. Crowley trembled under Aziraphale’s hands, who was trying not to panic. He’d never seen him like this before. He seemed smaller, more fragile, all his sly smirks and suave recklessness gone. Crowley pulled himself upright, looking desperately into his face. “I—I ran in, and the f–fire was everywhere, and—and...”

“You... ran in?” said Aziraphale, furrowing his brow. 

“I couldn’t _ find _ you, angel, I couldn’t _ feel _ you, I thought you were... I thought you had been destroyed,” he gasped, scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “And... and I couldn’t bare the thought of facing all the ages of this world alone. And I was going to just let it end.”

“But why... why let it end? We’d been working so hard to save them all,” said Aziraphale, searching his face. 

“Because what good is the world without you in it?” he cried, clutching him harder, trying to make him understand. “Because I... I’m sorry, I should go,” he stopped himself short, pulling away. 

“No, Crowley, wait,” said Aziraphale softly. “Please, don’t run away from me again.”

“I... I’m not running from you, angel, I’m running from myself,” he whispered. “From what I would do to you.” He clenched his hands in his lap.

“And... and what would you do to me?” asked Aziraphale, his gaze never leaving Crowley’s face. His bottom lip trembled. 

“Taint you, corrupt you. Make you Fall. I... I can’t do that to you. Don’t let me, please,” Crowley pleaded. 

“Oh, my dear fellow...” Aziraphale brought a hand up and cradled Crowley’s face, his thumb resting on his cheekbone. A tear spilled from his amber eyes, and Aziraphale brushed it away. 

“You’re worthy of something so much better than my l... than me. Heaven doesn’t deserve you; so how can I? Please, send me away, Aziraphale,” he faltered. “Refuse me, tell me no, I _ beg _ of you. I... I can’t...”

“Oh, Crowley,” started Aziraphale softly, meaning to tell him that he was just as worthy and to express how very much he loved him, but Crowley had vanished. Aziraphale’s arms were now sans one weeping demon, and he looked around, as though Crowley had only gone as far as the other end of the room. “Crowley?” he called, standing up. There was no answer; the bookshop was empty. 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, transporting himself to Crowley’s flat. He walked around, peering into the rooms nervously. “Crowley?” He’d been there few enough times, and never without Crowley there. But now Crowley was not here. The rooms were cold and empty; the plants were silent. Aziraphale looked out the window. The Bentley was in its usual spot, untouched. He snapped his fingers again and transported himself to their bench in St. James Park. Several of the ducks started swimming toward him, kicking their little webbed feet under the water. No Crowley. In desperation, he tried the bar he’d found Crowley in on the day of Armageddon. No one, the bar was almost deserted, a few solitary souls drinking as the early afternoon sun filtered in and illuminated the dust motes. Aziraphale flapped his hands in worry and closed his eyes, extending his consciousness, seeking the familiar scintillating heat of his demon. He could feel the energy of the many humans running to and fro, but he couldn’t feel Crowley, not anywhere in London. Should he go back to the bookshop and wait there? No, probably not. The bookshop had upset Crowley, reminded him of the fire. Aziraphale hadn’t known, hadn’t thought. He hadn’t mean to leave him. 

Aziraphale finally decided to wait in Crowley’s flat. It seemed a bit of an overstepping, but he couldn’t have him slip away again. Besides, the bookshop was out of the question. He sat in the living room, on a chair which suddenly found that it was a much more comfortable sort of chair than it had been moments ago. He crossed his legs, bouncing his knee. Minutes passed like hours, and hours passed like days. Aziraphale checked his pocket watch as the flat grew dark around him. Just how long was Crowley planning to be away? Where could he be? Was he alright? He spent the night fretfully pacing and made himself a cup of tea as the sun rose, finding the ritual of it comforting. Crowley’s cupboards hadn’t had any of the necessary implements, but that was soon mended. Aziraphale settled back into the chair, prepared to wait as long as it took. 

* * *

Crowley, meanwhile, was busy lying face-down at the bottom of an ocean trench, letting the expanses of cold water press him down and in, as though the pressure could fill in the horrible gnawing emptiness that had taken root in his chest. He’d made plenty of mistakes in his six thousand years of existence, but this one really took the cake. The burnt, gross, horrible cake, frosted in dirt and... and arsenic. He imagined himself tearfully accepting the award for Worst, Most Pathetic Demon Ever, smiling and simpering across the stage in faultless evening dress, hair pinned up intricately, shaking hands with Beelzebub as a crowd of demons clapped politely. Not only was he stupid and weak enough to allow himself to fall in _ love, _ with an angel no less, but now he’d had a breakdown and told said angel all about it. If he ever was going to tell him, it was supposed to be cool. Cool and debonair, and somehow Crowley didn’t hate himself, and Aziraphale wouldn’t look at him such... disgustingly kind _ pity, _ and no one was crying. 

He’d kept it together for so long, so blessedly, damnably long, but now it was all over. If he hadn’t broken like that, he probably could have carried on for another thousand years at least, trading drinks and banter. He could have continued absorbing every last bit of attention Aziraphale gave him, like a cactus in the desert rains, like a mold growing on scraps of food. He’d trade his life for one more afternoon with the angel, with his dry humor, his fussy ways, his enduring appreciation for humanity, his gentle smiles. Crowley had a neat mental catalogue of all the times Aziraphale had smiled at him down the ages, starting on the walls of Eden, right up until earlier that day, when he’d said something funny. No more of that, he supposed. Even Hell couldn’t engineer such exquisite torture. Just when Crowley had started to let himself hope that Aziraphale saw him as anything other than... a work friend, he’d mucked it all up. _ Oh, Crowley, _ murmured the specter of Aziraphale sitting beside him. _ Oh, Crowley, I’m sorry for giving you the impression that we could ever be anything but friends, but as an angel, I simply cannot allow this to continue. You may think you love me, but you see, that’s just not possible. Demons cannot love anything but sin and chaos. It’s time to stop lying to me and to yourself. Perhaps it would be best if we didn’t see each other for a while. _ Crowley buried his face in the silty sand and tugged at his hair in frustration. 

Maybe he could play it off as a joke? But no, he’d said too much. Aziraphale was trusting, but even he wouldn’t believe such an outright piece of bullshit. He—someone was summoning him. Oh, for Hell’s sake. This was the last thing he needed, some silly teen satanists in over their heads, bound to ask for something stupid or kill a goat or whatever. Crowley gritted his teeth, fighting the pull of the summons; all he wanted was to be left alone, possibly for the next century. The pull increased. Whoever was summoning him really meant it. Funny, he was pretty sure all the books with any really powerful sigils had disappeared from human memory. Crowley turned onto his side, clenching his hands into fists, straining to remain solid, to remain where he was. A voice sounded in his head, clear as a bell and thrumming with power. 

_ SERPENT OF EDEN, TEMPTER OF THE MESSIAH, DUKE OF HELL, CROWLEY, I CALL YOU AND BIND YOU. _ Crowley scrabbled uselessly at the sand as his corporation turned to smoke. _ I CALL YOU AND BIND YOU. _ He found himself hurtling through the atmosphere, pulled along like a fish on a line. _ I CALL YOU AND BIND YOU! _ He landed on a cold stone floor, dripping seawater everywhere. He was surrounded by the traditional summoning circle, complete with candles and ritual symbols. He pushed himself to all fours, perfectly ready to scare the human responsible into having a heart attack, but the snarl died in his throat as he looked up. It was Aziraphale, his eyes glowing, his wings spread, standing in Crowley’s own flat. Crowley hung his head. What further humiliation could he endure? 

“Crowley!” cried Aziraphale, flooded with relief. Crowley said nothing, clenching his jaw. “Crowley, are you alright? What ever happened to you? Why are you wet?” 

“Let me go,” he said flatly. 

“I’m dreadfully sorry for all this rigmarole, but I couldn’t find you, and—”

“Angel, please just let me go. We can forget any of this ever happened, we can go back to how it was. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Just, please. Open the circle and let me out,” Crowley said pleadingly, sitting back on his knees and looking up at him as his eyes faded back to normal. 

“I’m sorry, Crowley, but I can’t do that just yet. I think perhaps you got the wrong idea the last time we talked,” said Aziraphale, taking a step closer to the circle. Oh Christ, this was it. The gentlest rejection he would ever hear, a gossamer knife, spun of silk and sunbeams, poised to cut out the blackened lump that passed as his heart. And he was ready. If this was all Aziraphale cared to give him, he would take it gladly. “I love you.” Crowley froze, blinking in surprise. 

“I... No, you, you can’t mean that,” he choked.

“I do mean it. I love you, and we are _ free _ , my dearest, darling Crowley. We rebelled against Heaven and Hell, together. We chose the Earth, we chose _ our _ side,” said Aziraphale earnestly. “And I have not Fallen. I’ve been thinking, and I might know why. Because I did it out of love. An all-encompassing, protective love of humanity. And a fierce, enduring, unconditional love of _ you. _ And how could the Almighty fault me for that? Especially when She made you so brave, so smart, so wonderfully complicated.” Aziraphale sat down in front of him, taking his cold hands in his warm ones and smiling so softly.

“I’m, I’m not...” Crowley trailed off, tears mixing with the saltwater on his face.

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone, at the end of the world. That must have been...” he trailed off.

“Yeah. It was,” said Crowley brokenly, not meeting his gaze.

“And I’m sorry for every time I said I didn’t like you, or that we weren’t friends. I’m sorry for pushing you away, and I’m so, _ so _ sorry for making you feel like you weren’t worthy of my love for you,” said Aziraphale, gripping his hands tighter for a moment in emphasis. 

“That... that wasn’t you, angel. That was all me,” muttered Crowley, staring at him dazedly, blue eyes meeting gold. His sunglasses had gotten lost somewhere along the way, possibly in a bookshop in Soho or at the bottom of the ocean. 

“I’m sure that’s not true. And I’m sorry for anything and everything I’ve said that confirmed those terrible things you think about yourself. I see now just how long you’ve been... holding out your hand to me,” said Aziraphale tenderly, the warmth of his fingers starting to bleed into Crowley’s hands. “And I regret not taking your hand sooner, but I was... afraid. Afraid of Heaven, afraid for myself, afraid for you.”

“I know, angel,” murmured Crowley. “I know.”

“But I’m not afraid anymore,” Aziraphale said, brushing his thumbs across the backs of Crowley’s hands. He made a slight gesture, and Crowley’s wet clothes were replaced with a dry set, the sand and water gone from his hair. Crowley sighed, pulling Aziraphale closer and resting their foreheads against each other. 

“I love you,” he whispered. Aziraphale stood up, pulling Crowley with him, and wrapped him in a tight hug, his wings enclosing them both. Crowley wound his arms around him, once again burrowing his face into the angel’s shoulder. Aziraphale scuffed a gap in the circle, and Crowley felt its power disperse. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I had plans, you know,” he said, trying to smile through his tears. 

“Plans?”

“For confessing my love to you. If I ever stopped hating myself long enough. I was going to take you horseback riding across the moors, or to a cafe in Paris or something. And I’d produce a tasteful bouquet of flowers and whip off my sunglasses, and I’d say something heartfelt and romantic, but also _ really _ cool. And you’d blush that delightful shade of pink, and then you’d...” Crowley trailed off, pulling back slightly to look him in the eyes. 

“What would I do?” whispered Aziraphale, who was, indeed, starting to blush. 

“You’d kiss me until I couldn’t breathe. And on one memorable occasion, on the moors, we spent the whole night embracing under the stars,” Crowley said softly. Aziraphale blushed deeper, pursing his lips and looking away, then furrowed his brow slightly. 

“What about the horses?”

“Jesus Christ,” said Crowley, unable to stop a grin spreading across his face. “You’re gonna fucking critque my...?” He waved a hand around. “Maybe we tied them to a tree! I don’t know!” 

“There aren’t any trees on the moors, darling,” said Aziraphale, as though pointing out a fatal flaw in his reasoning. Crowley sputtered, gesturing wildly with one arm, the other still holding him close. 

“Well, it’s. That’s. It wasn’t the point! The point was that we’d share a tender night together, just the two of us, alone together at last! And then I’d say some sappy shit like, I would make constellation just for you, if I still could. And you’d say something even _ worse _ like, all the stars in the sky don’t compare to you.”

“That’s very sweet, Crowley.”

“You’re sweet,” he retorted petulantly. 

“I also had... plans.”

“Y-yeah?” said Crowley, almost unbelieving.

“Oh yes. In some of them, we’re having that picnic I mentioned, somewhere green and beautiful. And we’re sipping a nice white wine. And I do something ordinary, like refill your glass without being asked. And you look over at me with that fond little smile, and you say, angel, I have loved you for millennia. And I’d say, my darling, I have loved you for just as long. Then you toss aside your wine glass and kiss me,” said Aziraphale. “Other times, you’re feeding me something sweet from the picnic basket, letting your fingers brush my lips. And you’d say how much you like watching me enjoy myself. And it just slips out. I’d say, oh, Crowley, I _ do _ love you, I hope you know that. And you’d smirk, and say, I know, angel. You’d start to feed me the next bite, but I’d pull you down into a kiss instead.” 

“Wow. Don’t know why we didn’t do something sooner,” murmured Crowley. 

“We could... do something now,” whispered Aziraphale. Their faces were inches apart, and it took only the slightest movement before they were kissing. Softly at first, hesitantly, then harder. Crowley pressed himself closer, and Aziraphale tangled his fingers in his hair. Aziraphale tasted like springtime and pastry creme, and Crowley was surprised to find that they were still two separate beings when their lips parted a moment later. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna include some porn, but it kind of feels finished, so...
> 
> Please feel free to check out my website at https://kateglittoris.wordpress.com/


End file.
